Murders Pride
by ShinyFind
Summary: Hector Decius Xevious must step up in place of his dead master, Inquisitor Torque Malise, and unravel the mystery of Murders Pride, leading his team of mismatched operators on a galaxy spanning adventure to save the Imperium from destruction.


_Murders Pride_

_ShinyFind_

**-Prologue-**

**Names and Faces**

**570.216,M41**

The ship was long and slender with almost provocative curves that widened it in the middle and long raked wings that flared out like a horizontal fishtail above the twin, over-sized dark-light engines. The hull was painted in a glossy black and the reflections of the stars around slid across its surface like water. '_Avaricious_' was artfully lettered in white-trimmed low gothic on either side of the bow. No lights or windows could be seen save for the lavender glow of the engines as the ship silently ghosted through space like a predatory shadow.

Another ship, a mere fraction of the Avaricious' size, flickered through the darkness towards the black vessel. Through a narrow dorsal slit the faint blue glow of a control panel could be seen illuminating an angled and visored mask.

Litliana sub-vocally toggled her heads-up display and the computer highlighted the hard to see Avaricious with a digital yellow tint. She smiled to herself as the auto-recog light on her console flashed green. She steered her Raptor-class interceptor expertly through the series of holo-rings that appeared on her HUD that guided her towards the Avaricious' rear facing hangar in the belly of the black ship.

With deft control of her twin flight sticks she slid up under the Avaricious and through the angled translucent energy wall that allowed ships to enter and leave the hangar space without the need for an airlock or depressurising. Practiced expertise made it easy for her to slot her Raptor into the waiting embrace of a multi-jointed docking arm that had extended out to receive her. As the docking arm retracted she started powering down her systems and unbuckling her magno-harness.

The armoured canopy of her Raptor clicked as it split down the middle, each half retracting into the body on either side of the cockpit, allowing Litliana to clamber out onto the blade-edged wing and then to the long grilled walkway that extended from the main gantry to her now berthed interceptor. She looked around, but the hangar was devoid of life. She touched a stud on the side of her helmet and her visor slid up revealing her semi-luminescent blue eyes and cleanly defined black eyebrows.

With a sensual strut that was so ingrained after years of practice that it had become her natural walk, she sauntered down the walkway. She took one last look back at the clean, cold hangar and its rack of star ships before stepping through the door. The lights in the hangar went out as the door closed behind her.

Jonas was leaning against the wall in the adjoining hallway waiting for her, an evil smelling hand-rolled smoke between his lips. Shorter than her by several inches, but far more robust in his build, Jonas had to tilt his head to look her in the eye from under the wide brim of his silver-banded gentlemen's gunfighter hat he always wore cocked at a rakish angle. His chiselled features were set with an urbane smile but his eyes were hard and grey, like pitiless ball-bearings, He had his long black duster coat pulled back behind one of his quick-draw thigh holsters and was absently fingering the black grip of his Strauss & Starr revolver.

Litliana stopped and unconsciously posed, with one hand on her cocked hip, the other hanging akimbo. "What are you smirking at?" She demanded stonily.

Jonas's expression didn't change and took a drag of his foul tabac. "The boss wants to see us, darlin," he informed, smoke wisping from his mouth and nose. "We've got us some work to be done."

The small white object whizzed past the big man's head at a ferocious velocity and crushed itself flat against the wall behind him. Ezekiel, Zeke to his friends, looked at mangled white wreck on the floor and shook his head. "That was our last ball, mate," he said to the stocky blue-skinned xeno across the table from him.

The alien placed his small wooden paddle on the table and raised his three-fingered hand in apology. "Forgive me," he intoned respectfully in accented low gothic. He met Ezekiel's stare for a moment, an uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye. "Once again you stand defeated," he smiled, nodding at the big man.

Zeke chuckled good-humouredly. "Whatever you reckon, Taur." He glanced at the chronometer wrapped around his thick wrist, "Time for the brief anyway," he informed, a touch of seriousness to his tone now.

Taur nodded and the followed him out of the room. "I believe there is a colloquial expression for my victory involving my foot and your posterior..." he said to Zeke as the door slid shut behind them. "How does it go? Oh yes... I kicked your arse."

Zeke's hearty laughter was heard all the way in the engine bay.

Interrogator Hector Xevious of the Ordo Hereticus leaned back on his chair in the meeting room, staring at the featureless grey ceiling, absently tumbling an aquila-stamped throne gelt coin between the hard but nimble fingers of his left hand. It helped him think, helped him quiet his mind and focus on the task at hand.

The door suddenly beeped and slid open, startling Hector from his thoughts, his right hand automatically snatching for the inlaid grip of his bolt pistol. He checked his draw and sat straight as two of his agents filed into the room. "Jonas. Litliana. Good," he greeted them, still tumbling his coin. "Where are the others?"

"Coming, I'd imagine," Jonas drawled as he sat. He leaned his chair back on two legs and swung his booted feet up onto the table, crossed at the ankles. He tipped his hat back with a little flick to the brim, pulled a small hide pouch of tabac from his silver-buttoned waist coat and started to roll a smoke.

Litliana sat with more grace, delicately folding her slender hands on the table in front of her. She'd changed out of her flight suit into an Eldarian version of an imperial stormcoat, worn open over a black bodyglove that she'd cut the midsection from to show her perfect abs. Her expression was blank, but the repetitive tapping of her pointed boot on the hard floor indicated her impatience. After waiting a while for someone to say something she started to drum her manicured nails on the table, frowning slightly.

Hector stared at her. Registered with the Inquisition as a Craftworlder, Litliana was typically Eldarian. She was tall and perfectly proportioned with long legs, provocative hips, a waspish waist and full breasts. Her slender neck rose up from sloping shoulders to a face of fine featured youthful beauty with smooth creamy skin and not a wrinkle, freckle nor blemish to be seen. To most she was a model example of an Eldar. However, her wickedly arched brows and slightly luminescent eyes betrayed her true origins to those Eldar who actually came from Craftworlds.

She met the Interrogator's stare, an eyebrow raised as if to say "_What in the web are you looking at?_"

He looked away, tumbling the coin faster through his fingers, and caught Jonas's eye. The man was whetting the edge of his smoke paper with his tongue and sealing the tabac with a practiced roll of his fingers. The stump of his first smoke was crushed against the table. He was about to speak when the door opened again, admitting two more of his team.

"Exsel. Narco." Hector nodded to the pair.

Exsel Devundr curtsied delicately. "Good afternoon, Interrogator Xevious," she burbled happily.

The grizzled Interrogator smiled briefly. Exsel... He'd had only known her for a few months and already she'd won his trust and affection.

She was small and endlessly energetic, with a bubbly hard-to-hate personality that made everyone smile and a genius IQ that belied her childlike appearance. She was the team's sanctioned psyker, but strictly non-com. She oversaw all operations from on board the Avaricious and provided strategic coordination for Hector and the others. She always dressed in fancy high gothic style, and spent her spare time designing/making clothes and styling her honey blonde hair.

Narco on the other hand, seemed to be the polar opposite of Exsel. Silent and calm but in the way that a hunting lion might be as it crouches before springing to motion for a kill. His tailored suit was dark grey and unadorned, save for a silver Aquila pinned to his lapel. His black hair was slicked back and touched slightly with grey at the temples, his face clean shaven and strong jawed.

Hector had at first thought them to be a strange pair, until he'd discovered that Exsel had been entrusted to Narco from the day she was discovered to be a psyker. He served as her surrogate father, mentor and protector. And should it come to pass that Exsel ever succumbed to chaos, he would be her executioner. Such was the oath he swore to the God-Emperor in the ceremony that bound the two of them together for life.

"What colour, Sir," Jonas' droll tone cut into Hector's train of thought, "of horse shit will we be shovelling today?"

"Shut up!" Hector snapped a little harsher than he meant to. "Sorry..."

Jonas was clearly shocked, but he said nothing.

The door opened again. "Someone call for the dream-team?" Zeke rumbled as he and Tauris entered. He sat heavily in the chair beside Jonas and slapped the gunslinger on the shoulder. "How's it going, Johnny, alright?" He asked cheerfully.

Jonas dipped his head once. "Zeke," he replied flatly. He HATED being called Johnny but he knew Ezekiel was just ribbing him.

Hector inwardly smiled. Ezekiel was a very unusual man.

An Adeptus Astartes battle brother for decades, Ezekiel turned to rogue trading after his Chapter was disbanded. Quickly replacing his space marine aloofness with rogue trader charm, Ezekiel established a reputation for reliability, no matter the job. To Hector, Ezekiel's contacts and reputation were equally as valuable as his considerable combat skills and presence.

The last of his operators, Tauris, sat quietly in his seat, nursing a cup of caffeine.

A Tau of the Fire Caste by birth and upbringing, Tauris was extraordinarily fast and powerful for his size with an analytical intelligence to match. He wasa good friend to have and one of Hector's most valuable assets.

It had amazed Hector how quickly the others had accepted the strange xeno as part of the team, though admittedly it had helped that Tauris quickly proved himself to be reliable, loyal, intelligent and amicable.

Interrogator Xevious took one last look at each of them, pocketed his coin and nodded briskly. "Okay, here's what's going on."

**-ONE-**

**SMALL FRY**

**570.238,M41**

On the surface Gaza seemed like a statue; heavy, immobile and lifeless. But under the mirrored visor of his glare shades his beady eyes constantly roamed, scanning the street in both directions. In front of him a low riding black limousine sat waiting for its precious cargo, Arch Bishop Chester Cobb, whose opulent manse and grounds extended out behind Gaza like some ostentatious tribute not to the God-Emperor, but rather to the Bishop himself. Despite this Gaza liked his job, it was easy, paid well and, in his eyes, guarding for the Arch Bishop cleansed his soul of all his crimes, even if he did keep committing them on a regular basis.

Gaza eyed a vehicle approaching and sighed. It was going to be one of _those_ days. He stared at it, willing it to pass him by but it slowed down and pulled in to park behind the limo. A hard-faced and tired looking man in an off-the-rack suit stepped out of the unmarked vehicle and approached him.

The man fished a leather wallet from his inside jacket pocket and flashed a silver shield in Gaza's face.

"Detective Hector Quade, Marshals Magistratum," the man said firmly. "Take me to the Bishop."

In a building several doors down and across the road Ezekiel, hiding behind some curtains, peered through the window and keyed his micro-bead. "He's in," was all he said.

Hector felt uneasy and exposed in the cheap suit and longed for the comforting armoured weight of his usual garb. Even the Tronsvasse compact automatic nestled in its shoulder holster didn't make him feel any better, it was a farcry from his weapon of choice, but it would have to do. Appearance was everything in this play, and Hector had to look the part. He squared his shoulders and waited.

The room he waited in was small and plain; white walls, white ceiling, white floor. No decorations, skirting, windows or furniture save for a single simple wooden chair in the corner. Even interrogation rooms at the local Magistratum weren't this bleak.

Just as he was giving in to the urge to start pacing, a guard filled the doorway with his muscled bulk. "The Arch Bishop will see you now. Follow me."

Hector followed him out and fell instep beside him. Outside of the white room the manse was far more inviting, far more lavish and opulent. The rooms were high ceilinged and chandeliered, with walls panelled in expensive timbers and gilt skirtings carved like creeping flower vines. The tables and cabinets was also timber; polished, heavy and classically styled. The cabinets themselves were filled with cut crystals, delicate hand-painted crockery, vintage liquors, priceless relics and artefacts. High-backed leather chairs sat in pairs in every room and neonates scurried about like cockroaches, cleaning and dusting and polishing.

Hector noted to himself that none of the rooms bore any sign of religion, no aquilas, rosettes, votive candles, prayer sheets or iconography of any kind. Not a single painting nor plaque nor statue of the Emperor, Primarchs or saints, even the Arch Bishop's patron saint, Tyson Claudius. The coin tumbled faster through Hector's fingers the further into the house he was lead.

After what seemed like an age the guard lead him into a room that was no different from the rest. "Wait here," the guard told him bluntly before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Hector didn't have to wait long. A fat balding man in the gold trimmed crimson robes of the high ecclesiarchy strode confidently into the room extending his hand to the man he believed to be a Magistratum Detective.

"Marshal Quade?" he asked warmly, shaking Hector's hand.

"Yes," Hector replied quickly. "I just have a few questions, your worship. It won't take long."

"Anything for the Magistratum, Detective."

Hector fished a small notebook from his pocket, flipped a few pages and cleared his throat. "It's about the apparent self-immolation of one," he consulted his notes, "Angus Genève last mass-" his vox bleeped urgently, "Excuse me, your worship," he begged, turning his back and raising the device to his ear.

He listened for a minute, a frown creasing his face. "Very well, I'll be there as soon as possible," he promised and quickly turned back to the Arch Bishop. "I'm sorry your worship, we'll have to do this another time. I must go."

"I'm sure your business is pressing, another time will be fine, my son," the Arch Bishop placed his hands on Hectors shoulders. "The Emperor protects," he intoned.

Hector nodded. "The Emperor protects," he replied, slipping his coin into the Arch Bishop's robe pocket without him noticing.

None the wiser the Bishop summoned a guard with a snap of his pudgy fingers. "Show this Marshal to the door."

Gaza watched the Marshal drive away. '_That didn't take long,_' he thought to himself. He quickly pushed it from his mind though, because what was it the Bishop always said? '_Gaza, you stupid slab of meat! You're not paid to think_!' that was it.

Gaza resumed his beady-eyed scanning of the street, repeating in his mind '_No thinking. No thinking. No thinking._'

Tauris lay still as stone on a table behind a fifth story apartment window, his eye glued to the scope of his railgun. The heavy Tau weapon was braced with a bipod for stability, and Tauris only had to move it a few centimetres to sweep his view across the entire windowless facade of the Arch Bishop's manse half a kilometre away.

His micro-bead squelched quietly in his ear and he keyed it. "Go for Tauris," he said.

"Target marked," Interrogator Hector Xevious informed him. "Do you have eyes on?"

The Tau warrior peered through his scope at the windowless manse, the advanced xeno technology highlighting every life form as a ghostly blue figure, even through walls. One figure glowed faint red instead of blue and Tauris focused his aim on that one. "Affirmative, Interrogator Zevious. The aura appears to be weak, however."

"Well how powerful a beacon can you fit into a coin?" Hector cut back.

Across the link Tauris heard Litliana snigger.

Several blocks away the interrogator pulled over his unmarked Magistratum cruiser and jumped out, popping the boot release. "Okay people, go time. Sit-rep," he requested.

"Litliana here, Jonas and I are in place."

"Good," Hector nodded to himself as he stripped off his disguise. "Zeke, you read?"

"Crystal clear, boss," Ezekiel replied cheerfully. "I'm good to go."

"Let's do it then," he took a deep breath. "Taur, take the shot," he ordered.

Tauris slid his finger onto the trigger and applied some gentle pressure. The railgun hummed as it awoke from standby. Through the scope Tauris tracked the faint red glow as it moved about.

"Yellow... Yellow..." he spoke softly, focusing on his task. "Yellow..."

The faint red glow stopped moving, and Tauris smiled. "Green." He said with an air of finality, squeezing the trigger.

The railgun spat its hyper velocity slug out with an electrical crackle and a clap of thunder. The air was sweet with ozone, and Taur, still peering through the scope, saw the red glow fold in half and lay still.

"Direct hit," the Tau informed with a smile, lovingly stroking the weapon.

Gaza heard the thunder and looked to the clear blue sky with a frown. Before he could even form a thought the door flung open behind him, and a circle of guards rushed out and shoved something into the back seat of the waiting limousine, four of them piling in behind it.

There was a lot of shouting and shoving and Gaza tried to figure out what was happening as the limo roared off down the street. He overheard the head of security bellowing into his vox.

"A double has been killed! The Bishop is on the move, get protection rolling now!"

Sitting a block away on her customised two-seater roadcycle, Litliana was waiting with the engine idling. Dressed in a tight black bodysuit that had plastek skid plates form fitted to protect her legs, arms, chest and spine she was far from inconspicuous. Some men walking by had leered suggestively at her until she flashed her Inquisitorial Rosette at them and sent them packing. She slid an aerodynamically styled crash mask over her face, leaving the back of her head and her long glossy hair free to catch the wind.

Jonas was perched behind her on the roadcycle's second seat, his duster replaced with a short jacket that wouldn't get caught in the back wheel. His head was bare, and he ran a gloved hand through his short mud coloured hair, he was uncomfortable on the bike but he hid it well. "Tauris had better not hash it," he grunted.

Litliana looked back at him over her shoulder and shrugged silently. She _wanted_ to ride, _wanted_ to chase, _wanted _to hunt, _wanted _to kill.

From his window hide Zeke saw the Bishop hustled into the limo. He ran for the door, unshouldering his Hades pattern bolter and racking the slide. "Target is alive and rabbiting!" He informed urgently.

Hector felt his stomach flip. "Litliana! Go!" He ordered quickly, pulling on his armour plated body suit as fast as he could.

"We're on it!" Litliana's response was almost drowned out by a throaty engine howl as she twisted the grip throttle. The heavy roadcycle launched away from the kerb, rising up on its back wheel like a rearing stallion.

"Uncle's pickled seed!" Jonas cursed, gripping the sissy bar tightly, trying not to fall off.

When the high-powered bike got back on two wheels he drew a break-action grenade launcher from the hidden compartment just under the left side of his seat and loaded it with a high explosive round from the bandolier across his chest. He suddenly had to wrap his arms around Litliana as the girl tipped the bike so low to take a sharp corner that her knee pad skimmed the road surface.

"Getting kind of friendly, aren't you?" The girl teased him.

"Easy now, lil lady!" he shouted at her, ignoring her comment. "I've no wish to be pickin' tarmac from my teeth!"

Her wicked laughter pealed through the comlink and chilled Jonas to the bone. "Leave your balls in your other purse?" she teased again.

"You've lost your marbles if you're thinkin' about mine, darlin," he countered, causing her to laugh again.

Meanwhile Zeke had run out into the middle of the road ahead of the speeding limousine and from a quartered stance, his feet planted wide, he levelled his bolter and grinned. With a violent rattle and a staccato report the bolter emptied its thirty-two round clip as the big car skewed sideways around the corner ahead of the ex-space marine.

The driver of the limo felt as he muscled the car around the corner amid squealing protest from the tyres that Zeke's maniacal grin would haunt him till the end of his days. The impression hit home as the first few rounds from the bolter shattered the armoured wind shield and splattered the driver with gore from the guard beside him whose body now ended at the neck in a spurting stump.

He fought for control as the following shots impacted with the side of the big vehicle, rending the armoured panels and exploding the windows in showers of glass. He heard agonised screams as someone in the backseat took a hit. He got the limo under control and stomped the accelerator hard, picking up speed on the straight road, leaving Zeke far behind.

Ezekiel touched his finger to his ear. "Target successfully diverted," he declared. "Litliana, he's all yours now."

As he spoke Litliana shot past in front of him on the same road as the fleeing limousine. The girl flicked him a wave in acknowledgement. "Jonas! Hang on tight!" She urged.

When Jonas' thick arms snaked about her waist she kicked the bike up a gear and weaved between a cargo-8 and four door coupe, then cut across in front of the coupe to zip around a merging tanker rig that angrily blared its air horn at her.

A few cars ahead the road cleared somewhat and their speeding target slid into view as it overtook a rusty and wobbly-wheeled beater.

"Jonas!" Litliana called him to ready himself.

Jonas, one arm still around Litliana's waist, raised his launcher and thumbed off the safety. "Pull ahead of him now, miss!"

"You don't ask much, do you?" She growled, crouching right down against the fuel tank. "Here we go!"

She dropped a gear and fully wound out the throttle. The revs rose fast before she geared up again and Jonas was stunned by the acceleration. Everything became a blur as the bike ate up the distance between the two vehicles at an alarming rate.

As they got closer one of the Bishop's guards leaned out of the window, awkwardly trying to manoeuvre himself to bring his long barrelled autogun to bear. They were alongside before he could even get it out the window and as they passed Jonas went to smash him with the launcher tube but Litliana beat him to it. She lashed out with her fist clutching a wickedly curved mono-molecular edged blade that sliced the poor brute's head cleanly off below the chin. The resulting arterial spurt spattered against Jonas' faceplate.

The driver swerved to hit them but the eldar girl weaved to the side out of his range and pulled in front of him.

Jonas aimed back over his shoulder with the grenade launcher and seeing it the driver slammed on the brakes, but it was too little, too late.

The shot went through the missing windshield and the cab divider into the passenger space. The limo exploded from the inside and split open like a rent tin can, gushing fire and billowing smoke. Now out of control it speared into the high rockcrete median and flipped over onto its roof, gouging sparks and debris from the road surface as it ground to a halt.

Litliana slid to a sideways stop and stared at the flaming wreck, the inferno mirrored in her eyes as she let the heat was over her.

Jonas tapped her shoulder. "Let's go," he said firmly, holstering the grenade launcher.

She continued to stare until the approaching sirens of emergency services reached her ears. With tyres squealing she peeled the bike around gunned it back down the highway, heading for the spaceport.

Back on board the Avaricious Hector was lying in his bunk half dressed, staring at the blank pictview screen set in the low ceiling above him. A new coin tumbled slowly through his fingers as he thought.

It had only taken a few days of sleuthing, researching, hunting and interrogating to draw his conclusions, to find the head of the proverbial snake, Arch Bishop Chester Cobb.

Not a particularly challenging objective, the execution had been the most difficult aspect, one that his team had handled admirably. He longed for a proper mission with proper objectives, like when he was apprenticed to Inquisitor Torque Malise. Torque had been his friend and mentor, but he was wounded in a gunfight after catching a freak ricochet with his face not ten months ago. He had died a few minutes later in Hector's arms, whispering instructions to his pupil with his dying breath.

Hector sighed deeply and rolled onto his side. Torque had been a dear friend and Hector still mourned him, but his death had come before he'd recommended Hector for promotion from Interrogator to full Inquisitor. Hector was stuck at Interrogator until someone high enough up the food chain approved his promotion.

At least he had inherited Torque's ship, Avaricious. Torque had commissioned the Avaricious from an outcast group of Dark Eldar shipwrights and it had cost him a fortune in cash and slaves. It had quite a few features that bespoke its pirate construction, things that Torque had insisted upon having. Such features included missile and lance batteries that retracted to hide in the hull, boarding torpedoes, darklight sub-space engines and a webway drive. There was not another like it under Imperial control anywhere in the galaxy. And it was his home.

As for Torque's operators; Ezekiel, Tauris, Litliana and Jonas, they were not owned or indentured or obligated in any way. They had willingly elected to stay on and work for Hector. Under Torque they had been Hector's friends, his equals. Not much had changed, except that now they looked to him for direction, for leadership. He'd sooner die than abandon them, so he became their leader.

Lost in his memories he almost forgot the newest faces on his team, Exsel and Narco. The mismatched pair from Titan were his first recruits and valuable ones at that. It had taken about a five months for Hector's assigned psyker to burn out, the poor man being unable to shoulder the workload set to him. Opting to source his own, he eventually stumbled across Exsel.

He'd found the girl and her watcher wandering around a free trade spaceport on Elysium-4 in the Pandora system. The Avaricious had docked to resupply and Exsel was so smitten with the design and style of the ship that she sought out Hector and offered her specialised services.

Her offer startled the interrogator who arrested her on the spot. She quickly confessed to having scanned his thoughts and willingly submitted to incarceration aboard the Avaricious where Xevious subjected her and her watcher to a week of interrogation and scrutiny before deeming her safe.

Once decided, he pushed to have her sanctioned and registered as part of his team, which had pleased Exsel greatly.

"Thank you thank you thank you!" She had gushed, throwing her slender arms about his neck and hugging him tightly.

The memory cheered him up and he smiled happily. "What do we do now?" He said to himself.

In coincidental reply Exsel's voice whispered in his mind.

+Sir, please come to the bridge+

"What's wrong Exsel?" he asked aloud, sitting and buttoning up his shirt.

+Incoming astropathic wave.+

"I'll be right there," he replied, quickly pulling on his boots.

The bridge of the Avaricious was warm, well lit and fairly busy. Three sides were slightly angled walls that rose to a ceiling supported on buttresses masterfully carved as angels, each ones wings flaring to and holding up the ceiling, each projecting light from glowing eyes.

The lower half of the walls were devoted to large holo-screens banked beneath which were consoles and stations for communications, navigation, weapons and flight control as well as ship systems such as life support and gravity.

In the centre of the room was a raised dais topped by an almost throne-like captain's chair with master-control panels on the arms, an iconically marked retractable central display rising between the leg rests and a curved backrest inlaid with a circuit of wraithbone sporting cerebral jack plugs.

Shipmaster Captain Radec Tatu Reviri, an eldar hailing originally from the Biel Tan craftworld, sat with his leather booted feet on the central control panel, picking his pearly white teeth with the pointy end of an avian bone he had snapped after chewing all the meat off.

He half jumped out of his skin, his improvised toothpick spinning to the deck when Hector Xevious' strong hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind.

"Captain," Xevious chided him gently in Eldarian. "You really should pay more attention to your surroundings."

"Yessir," Radec replied in Low Gothic, waving a half hearted salute.

Hector moved past him without further comment and stepped in beside Exsel who was ensconced in one of two recessed stations set into the deck forward of the captain's chair.

"Exsel?"

She was staring intently at her pictscreen, her mind directing twin beams of flickering light that projected from the tiny blue gems set in her brow to play across the photosensitive controls, calling information to view faster than human hands or voice commands could ever hope to achieve.

She broke contact with the screen to look up at him. "Astropathic cipher decoded and signature confirmed," she said quickly. "The Inquisitorium."

"Put it up," he ordered, stepping down closer to the main central holo screen, smoothing his wrinkled shirt.

Exsel played her mind light across her console and a face appeared in front of Hector. The ancient, wizened and craggy visage of the Ordos Hereticus Segmentum Pacifica Grand Master.

Hector quickly and nervously bowed. "My Lord, I am honoured."

"Hector Decius Xevious?"

"How may I serve you, Lord?" Hector bowed again.

"How may we all serve the Emperor, Interrogator?" He asked retorically. "The death of your master Torque Malise has been processed and his performance reviews for you have been assessed and evaluated..."

Hector held his breath.

"...and you have been judged," the old man continued. "You have been judged and you have not been found wanting. Therefore it is my honour to bestow upon you the rank of Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Lord," Hector placed his fist over his racing heart in salute.

"Much is asked of whom to much is given, Inquisitor," the Grand Master warned. "Do not make us regret our decision."

"I will not, Lord. Thank you."

"Proceed to Segmentum Solar; coordinates will be relayed to you."

"If I may, Lord," Hector queried. "Coordinates to what?"

The Grand Master smiled. "To your new pupil, Inquisitor."

**-TWO-**

**Fresh Meat**

**571.M41**

Fear. Panic. Desperation. Pain.

The last feeling registers only briefly to the man. The pounding of his feet, the racing of his heart, the surging rush of blood in his ears, the ragged gasping of his breath all blot out the maddening itch of his seeping wounds. The world around him flashes by in a colourless blur, things bang and bump into him as he runs, as he flees blindly for his very life.

Above it all he hears the laughter again, hollow and haunting. It is getting closer and seems to surround and envelop him in a blanket of utter terror. He screams helplessly, fear reducing him to primal instincts, coherency, logic and reasoning gone, only the desire to survive driving his legs to keep running. He can't run fast enough, can't escape.

Blinded by his fear he runs full speed into something hard, and falls flat to his back, his legs running in the air, his arms flailing, wails and screams issuing unbidden from his lips. He manages to grasp some semblance of sanity and tries to scurry to his feet but the shadow is there, pinning him down with a weight on his chest.

He hears the laughter and sees the heartless moonlight glint off brushed steel.

The first shot releases him from his torment, the second makes sure there will be no coming back. Ever.

The shadow relishes the kill, feeling absolved, purity and purpose obtained through execution. He lowers his gun and clasps a token in his hand as he kneels over the lifeless corpse. "I declare thee cleansed." The shadow rises, letting the token fall back to his chest on it's silver chain. As he turns the moonlight flashes briefly, reflected in the chromed and polished surface of the iconic token, the badge of ultimate justice and power...

The Rosette Inquisitorium.

Jonas sat alone in the officers' dining room with a bottle of whiskey and a deck of cards. With a slow exhale he added to the smoke hanging in the air around him as he shuffled the cards and dealt a game of solitaire. He preferred to play bluff, but he always won and no one on the crew wanted to lose all their money to him... Again.

Halfway through his game and a fifth through his bottle Jonas felt the presence of another in the room. With one hand on his gun he flicked a glance over his shoulder.

Litliana was leaning in the doorway, her arms folded.

"Fancy a game?" Jonas asked her, gathering up and shuffling his cards.

"Why would I? You cheat," she replied coming towards him. "But I'll take a drink."

He pushed a chair out from the table with the toe of his boot. "Have a seat," he said, pouring a large glass of whiskey for her.

She flicked her long coat out to the side as she sat and crossed her right leg over her left. She fiddled with her drink absently then shot it down in one gulp. "What have you heard about the young-blood?" She asked him finally.

"The new fella? Only what Hector told us, and that weren't much. But we make planetfall tomorrow and you can see for yourself. But I'll bet my gold gelt to your silver one that he gets tagged or fragged on our first out."

"No bet. Even if he's got the skill to stay unmarked, you'd shoot him yourself to win the bet anyway."

Jonas grinned. "I can't argue with you there, darlin'."

She downed another shot. "Just deal the cards," she ordered. "But if I catch you cheating, I'll tear your fingernails out."

"There is no satisfaction that has not some difficulty in it's achievement," Tauris' voice was calm and measured. The Tau fire warrior was seated cross-legged before a sqaure stone block in the center of a rock garden, the white pebbles under him neatly raked into concentric circles with half a dozen large grey rocks deliberately placed about the garden to reflect and help focus his mind.

"With meditation as it is with battle, the mind must be calm and free to control the body without thought, the very basis of what you call reflex action. As you train your body to respond to situations without thinking, you should also train your mind.

"To be a great warrior is to be like water. Water is fluid and flows freely, instantly assuming any shape, avoiding any attack. But water contained must be released, and such weight focused on a single point generates significant power," he rose easily to his feet and balled his fist a mere handsbreadth above the stone block before him.

On the edge of the rock garden Ezekiel watched, mesmirised.

The blue-skinned alien drew a deep breath, held it a second, then exhaled with a sharp shout as he drove his fist into the stone block.

To Zeke's amazement the block shattered through the middle and fell away in two pieces. "Far out..." he breathed. "I could do that," the big man mused, "If I had power armour on... But with a bare fist..."

Tauris carefully brushed dust from his simple robe and stepped lightly from the garden. "Does that help you to understand, my friend?" He looked Zeke in the eye. "You are a great warrior, one of humanities finest. Learn to focus your mind and be like water and you will be unstoppable."

The ex-space marine looked back at the broken stone block. "Remind me never to play ping-pong with you again."

In a rare moment of brevity Tauris laughed. "Perhaps, Ezekiel, we could try a Tau activity popular among the fire caste."

Zeke grinned. "Sounds like a blast. How is it played?"

Tauris made some gestures with his hands. "A mechanical sling pitches targets into the sky for us to shoot."

"Sounds like something I could win at," Zeke said enthusiastically. "Let's do it."

13


End file.
